


Fault Lines

by ThatOtherGirl



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Jane Foster is a Good Bro
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-01-16 09:24:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18518572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatOtherGirl/pseuds/ThatOtherGirl
Summary: The lines have long since been drawn in the sand, and Darcy finds that she’s somehow ended up on the other side.





	1. Chapter 1

 

Another burst of laughter, all bright smiles and lazy contentment.

It catches the attention of the guests privileged enough to be allowed so nearby, curious looks thrown at the happy group before giving indulgent smiles and reluctantly turning back to their own friends. Everyone so eager to bask in the carefree atmosphere.

All but one.

Nobody bothers to take note of the lone figure leaning against the wall, tucked beside the large potted trees that are going against nature by blooming in the bleak months of winter.  

Darcy doesn’t even attempt to hide her cringe at the next round of merriment, traitorous ears straining to catch a deep rumble of amusement. It’s there- lighter and more boisterous than she remembers. That sound makes Darcy’s heart clench so painfully she wonders if it’s possible to die from this alone.

Spitefully, she plays with the idea of walking over there just to see what they’ll do. Without a doubt there will be no warm welcome waiting for her. The lines have long since been drawn in the sand and Darcy somehow ended up on the other side. Not the wrong side; she’ll never believe that no matter what arguments are thrown at her. That staunch refusal to be swayed by their logic has only cemented her damnation. It doesn't help that she blatantly- and so frantically- tries to re-blur those lines at every opportunity. Each subsequent failure witnessed with varying degrees of pity and frustration.

Blue eyes suddenly clash with hers and Darcy can’t contain the sneer that curls her lips at the tall blonde. America’s golden boy simply watches her for a beat, hand absently coming up to rub his left shoulder. She doubts he even realizes that telling little tick exists and a ghost of a smile crosses her lips before falling away like it never existed.

The connection ends just as abruptly as it began and Darcy once again finds herself relegated to the outskirts.

Her fingers grip the champagne flute until they start to go numb. Good, at least there’s one thing she won’t be forced to feel. She wonders if her face will literally crack, certainly feels like it- the too bright smile a sharp pain. At least it’s one she’s become familiar with. Darcy knows she can deal with this pain, knows that hours from now, when she’s finally alone and allowed to drop the facade, she’ll feel the ache in her cheeks until she falls into a restless sleep. That’s comforting in its own way; that she knows what the rest of the night holds- the same as the others before it. 

Suddenly, it’s too much. The familiar faces and just how damn happy everyone is. She makes her way to the exit easily and slips through the set of doors to the left. It’s the perfect spot to regroup, the private balcony deserted due to the frigid weather and allowing her a much needed moment of solace.

The stars twinkle without a care of the despair below and for the first time in so long, Darcy studies the night sky, trying to locate the planets she knows are just out of sight. But she’s never been all that interested in astronomy (tamps down the memory of the many hours she had found a reason to be) and try as she might, Darcy can’t locate the constellations. For a second, she thinks she pinpoints Sagittarius, straining her memory to where that would place Pluto, but it’s fleeting as she loses focus on the cluster of stars and wonders if she even really saw them to begin with. No matter how hard she tries, she can’t seem to locate it again, eyes blurry from the harsh wind.

Less than a year ago, she would have been guaranteed the warmth of arms wrapping protectively around her and a broad chest to lean back into, shielded from the cold world. The thought leaves her chilled more than the weather ever could. Darcy’s not sure how long she stands there shivering, alone on a cold balcony all the while waiting for a person that’s never going to come. These days, even a second is too long to waste on hope that has long since lost any reason to exist.  

When she makes her way back inside, no one notices her reappearance, too caught up in their own affairs.

Honestly, Darcy’s not even sure why she’s lingered in this hellscape as long as she has. The requisite time frame for a polite appearance has long since passed. She could easily have slipped away with the other guests that only came to show their faces and then scurried out when the first socially acceptable chance arose.

Clearly, it’s not like anyone would even notice if she left once and for all. Hell, or if they did, Darcy can imagine the sense of relief that would infuse the room.

She’s the smudge in an otherwise artful masterpiece. The flaw that can’t be wiped away so easily. There’s a certain sense of satisfaction from that, one that Darcy’s not above enjoying in her own perverse way.

It’s obvious to all she was only invited because it would have been far too much of a social faux pas for the pristine Pepper Potts to stomach. No, the glorious CEO wouldn’t dare let a whiff of impropriety near her party. Stark would have and probably in a painfully blunt way too, but it’s not like she’s a blip on his radar and doubtful she’s ever had the honor of crossing his genius mind.

Besides, it was an unspoken agreement that where Jane goes, Darcy will never be far off. Although, maybe not so silent as she’s pretty sure Jane had made a few loud declarations of the sort- her loyalty clearly on display for anyone that crosses her path. And thus, Darcy was expected to join the party and if not play nice, than at least fade into the background.

God knows, SI had done their fair share of wooing the brilliant astrophysicist, so desperate for her faster than light mind that they were more than willing to deal with an unwanted thorn in their side. No one wants to remember the only reason Jane finally accepted their numerous offers after so many firm refusals.

At the thought of Jane, Darcy tears her eyes away from the happy group across the room- and isn’t it strange that she doesn’t remember making the conscious choice to even look in that direction in the first place, but then again, a lot of the things she does these days don’t seem to be in her control.  

The brunette is surrounded by scientists eager to be in the presence of the award winner- even if these were the same people that probably laughed at Jane’s hard work years before- when they thought her nothing but a joke to their little community.

Jane is clearly in her element, enjoying the attention, however that same awareness is there too. The knowledge that if things had turned out slightly different- if proof hadn’t literally fallen from the sky, then these same minds would have delighted in turning their noses up at her.

Still, it’s nice to see Jane get the respect that she so clearly deserves. Even as the thought flashes across her mind, Darcy can’t stop the bitter resentment that flares in her chest. Not surprising really, as bitterness cloaks her every waking moment these days. No one flashes Jane the pitying side glances, even though Jane has an ex-boyfriend at the same party- who is in fact currently watching her from afar with puppy dog eyes. Oh no, Jane gets happy greetings and professional inquiries as if she didn’t have a fucked up train wreck of a break up with an actual fucking God. And shit was that relationship so publicized that Darcy actually started keeping eyes open for any overzealous fans turned stalkers. Even Thor, so clearly still besotted with his lady love and doing a piss poor job of hiding it doesn’t get any comforting looks.  

Darcy wants to throw her glass at the idiots in the large ballroom. She’s not sure how they all collectively decided just how the sympathy and gentle voices should be divvied up, only that it was all directed at her. Had been for five straight months now. And shouldn’t it be someone else’s turn by now?

Irritation burns through her veins at the memories of the endless stream of half-hearted smiles she’s been forced to endure, everyone always so careful to avoid making direct eye contact. What, like she’s going to break down and start crying right there? Cause a scene and threaten the world’s greatest heroes?

Fuck that. She’s already done all that and far worse thank you very much. While Darcy will never be the smartest person in the tower, she’s not dumb by any means and won’t be repeating the same mistakes twice.

She’s Darcy motherfucking Lewis. That means she’ll come up with new and even more humiliating mistakes all her very own.

As if sensing a disturbance in the general revelry, Jane glances around, immediately landing on her. And fuck does she hate that Jane’s decided to suddenly start taking notice of things outside of science. (It’s an unfair thought, even Darcy knows that- because who else has spent countless nights as a shoulder to cry on, a partner to binge watch endless marathons and the supplier of junk food and mixed drinks? The one person Darcy can turn to that can confirm _it_ _was_ _real_ , that Darcy didn’t make the whole thing up. As much as everyone wants to believe otherwise. It’s all she has now, because the only other person doesn’t count. Not anymore.)  

Darcy turns on her heels, she spent hours leading up to this party convincing Jane it was ok to leave her side for more than a minute and finally the woman had given in. She’s not going to let all that progress be thrown out now. Let Jane enjoy being the belle of the ball for a change, she’s certainly earned it.

The sudden change in direction puts Darcy in sight of the large dance floor and for a moment she loses herself as she watches the couples spin elegantly in each other’s arms.

_“Come on! It’s easy!”_

_As if to illustrate her point, Darcy shakes her hips out of tune with the steady beat, raising her arms and twirling. Apparently her moves are inspiring, only to wrong person as the stoic man continues to stand completely still, while a giggling scientist stumbles over and begins to shimmy._

_“Yay! Go Janie!” Darcy squeals, grabbing the other woman’s hand and dragging her into a clumsy spin._

_Not to be outdone, Jane trips, pulling Darcy into an odd combination of jumping and arm swinging. Sleep deprivation and the residual adrenaline from so many weeks of life threatening danger were far better than any alcohol it seemed._

_Darcy grabs the large hand closest to her and gives a tug. Nothing happens, not that she expected anything from the wall of muscle, but a girl could still try. In fact, said girl had been trying for a while now._

_“Oh buddy, one day-” Darcy points at him to emphasize her promise, laughing the entire time. “I swear you’re going to learn the joy of dancing. Even if it kills me.”_

_An eyebrow lifts at the challenge, but he stays frustratingly still. It doesn’t matter, Darcy feels as if her heart is lighter than air. She’s got her two favorite people by her side and for now, they’re all safe and happy._

_Besides, the small and achingly genuine smile on his face more than makes up for his lack of dance moves._

The sight of him with the slender (and oh so gorgeous) agent gently wrapped in his arms makes Darcy's skin crawl as their bodies move in tune to the sweet melody.

It takes all of her control not to scream and push them apart. Demand that he acknowledge her, _them_.

She’s not the only one that has zeroed in on the pair, Darcy sees. Even so far away from the crowd, Darcy knows what their soft murmurs say. After all, she’s heard it all over the last few months.

No one can judge him for taking a moment for himself, not really. It’s something of a miracle how he’s bounced back from the hellish ordeal, adjusting in record time to being one of the good guys and creating a meaningful life where once there was only ruin.

So no, the world couldn’t fault Bucky Barnes, war hero and newest Avenger, for his increasingly easy smiles and the small sparks of joy he seemed to discover each day.

The world couldn't, but Darcy sure as hell does.

 


	2. Chapter 2

No one will believe her, but this time at least, it’s not Darcy’s plan to be sitting in the communal kitchen when _please, please just call me Bucky_ strolls in casually.

And why the hell does she still have access to these private Avenger's only floors? It wouldn't have been unreasonable to revoke it after the first few incidents- hell especially after the first _dozen_. She’s not part of the team and has little to no clearance so it’s baffling that she was ever granted access to begin with.

Yet every single time she presses the button on the elevator, the doors slide open smoothly- a temptation she can never seem to resist.

Only under massive amounts of tequila will Darcy admit that she clings to this as proof- that deep down he wants her close, even if he doesn't realize it. That maybe he lives for these small run-ins like she does. In reality, she knows that Thor would not take kindly to his lightning sister being treated as anything less than an honored guest- and prohibiting her unrestricted entry to his stomping grounds would surely be seen as a blatant insult. Guess even the mightiest heroes didn’t want to offend a powerful God.

Clearly _Bucky’s_ distracted, otherwise he would have realized before entering the kitchen that it was taken. Darcy doesn’t want to think about what could have him so preoccupied, but still pictures the leggy agent that’s by his side more and more often. It takes fifteen seconds- Darcy times it- for him to notice her (pretends she doesn’t remember the way his awareness of her used to seem instinctual).

It’s a sight to behold really, the way her presence can cause such a change.

His relaxed shoulders pull tight and feet suddenly hesitate, body subtly shifting towards the door as if he’s calculating the odds of escaping unnoticed. Not a fucking chance, buddy, Darcy thinks uncharitably.

There are only a few seconds in this window of opportunity before he makes a polite excuse and gets the hell away from her (has happened too many times before that Darcy knows the signs). Darcy refuses to squander this chance. They _will_ have a pleasant conversation, even if she has to bite her tongue the whole damn time.

“Fruit loops?” Darcy shakes the box for further clarification.

His nose crinkles in distaste. “No thanks, tastes like chemicals with sugar poured on it.”

Her heart drops in the same amount of time it takes for the box to land carelessly down onto the counter. And oh how she hates that tone, polite regard that tries and fails to hide the dread, like this is the last thing he wants to deal with, but he was raised too proper to actually be rude to a lady’s face, so here they are. Him pasting on a brittle smile and bearing with it until she leaves him alone. Yeah, well fuck you, Darcy sure as hell didn’t want to be here either, stuck in this never ending cycle of misery. At least he gets a break from it, going on with his life the instant she’s unceremoniously pushed to sidelines once again.

The least he can do is give her five measly god damn minutes of his precious time.

He takes a deep breath, eyes shifting longingly to the doorway and Darcy knows what’s coming. It’s amusing in a gut wrenching kind of way how he looks like he’s preparing for battle. And okay, given their history, fair enough.

She has to say something though, he’s already imagining one foot out the door and as painful as this is, she’s desperate to prolong this rare time with him. It’s an addiction, slowly poisoning her and chipping away her self-control, but she’s unable to stop it. And it’s been weeks since she’s had a fix, hasn’t even seen him from a distance for a quick hit, and even longer since they’ve been face to face like this.

“Nice arm.” Darcy compliments dryly, the words tasting like ash. Because she hates this new shiny appendage that doesn’t have scuffs that tell a story of survival or makes odd little whirring noises at random times. It’s new and sleek and doesn’t have a mottled history attached to it (just like the pretty little agent that he’s so fond of these days). And Darcy wants to cry every time she catches sight of the foreign thing because it’s just another betrayal, another step further from her and the life they shared.

_“Shit.” Jane breathes out lowly, breaths coming faster than normal as she peeks through the now shattered back seat window, letting out a sigh of relief that they seem to have lost their very armed pursuers. “So where do we go now?”_

_A frown crosses his handsome face, voice strained. “I am compromised,_ they _will be able to make calculations based on my prior patterns and former rendezvous points.”_

 _Both women stare blankly at that tidbit, realizing that means they’ll now have to be the ones to figure out safe routes and of course a destination, even if it is just for a night. Neither waste time asking who exactly_ they _are- there are too many enemies pounding at the door for that to even be an issue any more._

_While Jane’s mind is whirling with endless calculations no doubt, Darcy suddenly grins and reaches into the glove box. Triumphantly, she holds the little folded map up and grins. “Well, they can’t predict where we’re going if there’s no rhyme or reason, right?” She doesn’t wait for a response and the other two occupants of the small car watch expectantly as she quickly flips the map open, closes her eyes and lets her finger drop. “How do we feel about” Darcy leans in closer to read the small print. “Polson, Montana?”_

_With a thoughtful nod, Jane muses. “That’s a really long ride from here.”_

_“Good plan, Darcy.”_

_Darcy shivers at the gravelly response from the man by her side, the thrill that seems to build each time her name touches his lips. She ignores the increasingly familiar knowing grin Jane sends her, but it’s impossible to overlook the startling blue eyes that turn to her for a breath taking moment. It’s a split second before his gaze is back on the road, a small quirk to his lips that wasn’t there a minute ago. Darcy leans back and watches in contentment as the afternoon light glints off the metal plates of his arm, blinding her to everything else._

He flinches at the blunt reminder of the unnatural thing connected to him and Darcy can at least take solace in the fact that he seems to angle his body to hide this fancy new toy from the world. It shouldn’t feel good, but Darcy’s past pretending to be a decent person. She’s glad he’s not flaunting this polished arm off to the world, unlike the way he does with the woman that hangs off his flesh and bone one. And that’s something else that Darcy lets herself take hollow comfort in. Because she knows what the cold metal feels like against her skin, teasing and reverent depending on the mood, but always, always loving. It’s something she doubts anyone else will ever experience now that he’s so hell bent on shielding everyone from the monstrosity. She’s tempted to bring up all the times she rode silver fingers, shaking from the pleasure they gave her.

As if called forth from the heavens to save his childhood friend from wicked women, Captain America walks purposefully through the door- the deadly spy by his side (Darcy absently notes the other woman has now gone blonde, no traces of red left, and feels a sudden dull pang where her heart should be because it’s one less link, yet another break from how things were).

Even though they both pretend to look mildly surprised to see her sitting there, Darcy’s not fooled. The Captain is always tuned into where his best pal is, and she’s sure there’s some kind of system that clues them in to her whereabouts- but only if it relates to their little team, otherwise Darcy could run naked through Manhattan and they wouldn’t give two fucks.

The spy doesn’t say anything, just watches her with a neutral look. For that, Darcy is grateful because she doesn’t think she can handle that uncanny shared recognition of something lost in the other woman’s eyes. The first time, Darcy had thought she imagined it, now she realizes there’s a Pandora’s box just out of reach. Darcy’s sure as hell not going to be the one to open it, already in too much turmoil to try and delve into whatever _that_ is (and shouldn’t the fucking Black Widow be able to keep the indifferent mask up at all times, instead of harassing people with those brief glimpses underneath? Darcy’s too wounded to realize that it’s a fragile olive branch of- not comfort, but something more than cold indifference).  

“Miss Lewis.” America’s pride and joy gives her a polite nod and rehearsed publicity smile, even as his eyes linger on her with that always present hint of unease.

The appropriate response would be to return the simple greeting or just simply smile, but Darcy can’t muster the will to do it- not for this man. The best she can manage is a quick jerk of her head and wonders if they can read her true feelings. How she despises the boy next door smile and the genuinely caring man beneath it all- because she knows firsthand the sharper edges he hides so well. The lengths he’ll go to get what he wants, unthinkingly destroying all that’s in his path, eyes too focused on the finish line to pay attention to the damage left in his wake.

Not anymore though. Darcy’s mere presence is a reminder, a walking memorial of everything that was ruined. It’s clear he sees it, from the shadow of guilt in his face whenever he can’t avoid looking at her (never any regret though, because Steve Rogers is too honest to even pretend things didn’t go just as planned). Darcy hopes it drives him crazy that he can’t escape her, like an itch always just out of reach.

If she doesn’t get her storybook ending, she’ll be damned if he does.   

Their tense standoff is interrupted by Bucky (and of course it is, because he’s been the epicenter of it all from the start). “You guys needed me, punk?”

Darcy doesn’t curtail her eye roll. Do they all think she’s stupid or blind? That she can’t see Bucky’s eyes widening in a silent plea and the resolve that covers his oldest friend’s face. “Yeah, we’re heading out in a bit.”

Voice with enough authority and details purposefully vague so it’s not a lie, hoping she assumes it’s Avenger’s business and therefore urgent enough to make her scuttle back into the shadows of their lives. Like she didn’t take a crash course on spy 101 from Hydra’s little runaway. They really must think she’s an idiot.  

The excuse is apparently good enough for Bucky because he’s eagerly moving toward the door. Those old fashioned manners stop his hasty escape and he reluctantly glances back to her. “Have a good day, doll.” It rolls off his tongue with careless abandon and Darcy has to blink back the sudden stinging in her eyes. That generalized endearment that means nothing, shallow and worthless- but still able to a feel like a blow to the chest. It’s almost funny how the hits keep on coming, but in new and unexpected ways.

She picks up her bowl and stands on shaky knees, turning to the sink, suddenly relieved to be alone as she watches the soggy fruit loops slip hopelessly down the drain. She can hear their friendly banter from down the hall, voices layered with comfort and easy affection. As if they’ve known no other way.

Bile rises and burns Darcy’s throat, because she knows better. Is one of the few that’s aware of steep price that’s been paid.

_It’s the sudden tightening around her waist that jerks Darcy awake, eyes blinking in the dark as she attempts to roll over and figure out what’s caused the interruption to her sleep._

_Before she can even open her mouth, there’s a metal finger against her lips, silencing any questions. His voice a gravelly whisper against her cheek. “Intruders, get Jane and go.”_

_Her mind races with a million questions, but in the end it doesn’t matter. Survival is the only thing that means anything right now. She doesn’t flinch at the cold shock of the gun being pressed into her hand, doesn’t even know where he kept it in their bed. He’s made damn sure that both she and Jane know their way around firearms, ignoring their protests and general lack of enthusiasm. Now, Darcy finds herself beyond grateful for this additional piece of protection._

_Rolling silently out of bed, Darcy doesn’t waste precious time to put shorts under the oversized shirt she slips into hastily. She follows him in the dark of their bedroom to the door, waiting for him to silently ease the door open- and she’s so fucking thankful that her man is justifiably paranoid enough to check and fix any squeaky doors of every place they stay, even if it is just for a few hours. Without a backward glance, he continues down the long hallway to the main room while Darcy darts to the right towards the other bedroom to gather Jane. It’s only a few seconds, Jane fast on the uptake, alert and ready in an instant. Still, it eats away crucial seconds as they hear a crash and shouts, the sound of bodies hitting the floor making both women scramble faster to the back bedroom- the planned escape route that had been drilled into their heads close at hand._

_They’re almost there when a loud shout turns into a pain filled scream that carries through the small house. Jane and Darcy freeze in unison, both recognizing the voice as one of their own. It’s stupid and reckless and they’ll most definitely be chewed out in multiple languages for this foolhardy behavior, but both women turn and run towards the sound, uncaring that they’re heading straight into danger._

_For a heartbeat, Darcy feels as if she’s paralyzed, unable to move from the shock. She had expected armed men in all black with big guns. Instead it’s somehow worse, because she doesn’t understand what’s happening, eyes can’t comprehend what they’re seeing. Totally unprepared to see Captain America, in his star spangled glory, dodging blows from the man she loves, both fighters bloody and panting; neither willing to back down from this lethal standoff._

_Jane snaps out of the momentary shock much faster, already jumping into the fray. She lunges onto the back of a man Darcy hadn’t even noticed, clawing at his face while letting out piercing screams of rage. The man seems shocked by this turn of events, struggling to escape her hold. It’s only later, far after the fact, that Darcy will realize just how delicate these trained fighters had been, that the bruises and aches when the dust settled were nothing compared to the deadly force that was natural to them. In the moment though, Darcy sees nothing but a threat to her own. Her family is under attack and she’ll be damned if she goes down without a fight._

_For her part, Darcy skirts the edge of the scuffle, waits for the clear shot. It comes, not totally clean, but she’s desperate. As much as she hates to admit it, Darcy can see the American hero is gaining the upper hand, slowly but surely. Steady breath and Darcy pulls the trigger, watches as red blooms from Captain America’s left shoulder and he staggers back in surprise. It doesn’t stop him though and he’s back in the fight almost immediately._

_Increasingly frantic, there’s no time to take stock of the situation as she jerks to gun back to its target, ready to pull the trigger again. There’s a split second, less than a breath before she’s prepared, but it’s too late. There’s a sudden movement from the corner of her eye and Darcy catches sight of red hair before a sharp pinch radiates in her thigh and the world turns hazy around the edges. Limply she falls to the ground with a loud thump, head lolling to the side to see the gun land harmlessly just out of reach. It doesn’t matter though, her limbs too heavy to do more than simply twitch. The foreign substance racing through Darcy’s veins makes her eyes blur, made worse by the tears that fall with each heavy blink as she valiantly fights to keep them from drifting shut for good. The world narrows down to this one purpose, the desperate need to stay awake; scared of slipping into the blackness and letting her family out of her sight, terrified of the world she might wake up to if she fails._


End file.
